THREE POEMS
BRIGHT WHITE LIGHT
for Henry Zebrowski
This week, the psychic is on vacation.
glow glow glow and then nothing—
as if something came through and killed
all the fireflies.
In the bible, it’s the woman who looks back—
born of man; cunt crafted from ribcage.
It wasn’t always like this.
When the bridge collapsed,
no one blamed God.
It’s better with a gun in your face.
If I knew the truth, I wouldn’t tell you anyway.
MEDITATION ON HEALING
it’s too hard so I stay
in for the night.
good, he says—girls like you
always go missing. don’t
be so small & blonde.
but what if I like being bad
at this? ask where
he hit me and I’ll let you.
MY BOYFRIEND WANTS TO DIE
by steering a yacht straight
into the eye of a storm.
He tells me this over coffee
or in bed. Once, he jumped
in front of a moving car.
Once, he woke up in a field
not far from where Hank Williams
stopped his own heart.
My boyfriend doesn’t believe
in after. There is only now
and then. That’s fine. We hike
to the highest point & hold
each other—initials of old lovers
carved into the rocks beneath
us. In the stillness, I listen
for the ba-dum-thunk-thunk
of his irregular hearbeat. We live
over there, by the smoke stacks.
He points north, to the river
but I am staring at his finger,
wanting to put it in my pocket,
keep it safe from everything.
Lauren Milici
Lauren Milici is a Jersey-born, Florida-raised poet and writer currently based in West Virginia. She is the author of FINAL GIRL from Big Lucks Books. When she isn’t crafting sad poems about sex, she’s either writing or shouting into the void about film, TV, and all things pop culture.
Twitter: @motelsiren